Gift Wrapping
by Gloriana Femina
Summary: Erik has been smitten with Christine for months, and he decides to make his move at Christmas with a thoughtful gift. Little does he know that she has a surprise for him, too. E/C, Modern AU, last updated for Father's Day. 1st Pl in Not A Ghost3's 2nd Christmas Contest & 1st Runner Up in 2nd Valentine's Day Contest. Now with a rated M companion story - Unwrapped - by me.
1. Gift Wrapping

Gift Wrapping

Erik had never wrapped a gift in his life. He rarely gave gifts, to begin with, and when he did, he just stuck it in a bag and handed it over. He usually gave his friend, Ann Giry, a gift in an appropriate bag – snowman at Christmas, balloons on her birthday, etc., but Nadir was lucky if Erik even bothered to put it in a plastic grocery bag.

But this Christmas was different. Because _Christine_ was different.

Erik was afraid that 35 was a little old to find his first love, but find her he did. Well, _she_ had found _him_. More precisely, she had found the section of his chamber music choir's website advertising their summer auditions, and she had signed up for one.

Christine had been new to the city when she waltzed into the audition room. On paper, she was overqualified. She had a BFA and an MFA in Voice, had several soloist credits to her name, had even sung a couple of leading roles in her hometown of Seattle. But this was New York City, and she had not yet landed an audition at the Met. She was looking for exposure while she waited tables, which is what brought her to his choir.

 _Hmm, exposure_ , he thought wryly, as he remembered her dark curls, bright blue eyes, long legs – the resume on the back of her headshot listed some dance credits – and her sunny smile. The little sundresses in the summer, the spaghetti strap tank tops and cotton shorts in August when the air conditioning was out, the tight leggings in the fall…and the thrice-cursed lumpy sweaters she'd worn since the temperature dropped!

Oh, yes, Erik would love to see her a little more exposed...

He shook himself out of his daydreams and anxiously ran his long, thin fingers through his black hair.

This choir was just a hobby, really. He composed music for a living, but he enjoyed working with voices, too. There was no instrument in the world more sensitive or varied than the human voice. There was nothing capable of so much expression. Erik loved playing piano, organ, violin, guitar, etc. – they all had their own personalities – but he often felt that nothing compared to a lilting soprano, a steady mezzo, a lyrical tenor, or a deep bass.

Voice was his true passion, but his tragic appearance made it difficult to get close to people, difficult to spend time alone with someone before questions arose. A choir was much less personal than one-on-one lessons, which suited him just fine. A choir was simpler.

Everything had changed at that audition.

Yes, _on paper_ , she had been promising. In _the flesh_ , she was perfection. Her voice was glorious, she was gorgeous, and…Erik was in trouble.

He immediately told her there was a spot for her in his choir, and then he found himself offering her a solo in Handel's _Messiah_ for Christmas. Christine had accepted with so much excitement, he had grinned like an idiot until she walked out of the room.

"There is a process for these auditions, you know," Nadir pointed out in clipped, offended tones once she was out of earshot.

The grin slid off Erik's face – the part anyone could see, anyway – as Erik remembered that he wasn't alone. Honestly, from the moment Christine had sung her first note, it was like Nadir didn't exist.

"Did you intend to turn her down," Erik asked incredulously.

"No, she's one of the best singers I've ever heard," Nadir conceded. "But we're supposed to hear everyone before we make our decisions, and we're definitely not supposed to hand out Christmas solos in July!"

"I don't care," Erik shrugged. "We're not going to get anyone better. Not in this lifetime. I'm not going to pass up the chance to work with a singer like that."

"Not going to pass up the chance to look at her every week, more like," Nadir had muttered before going out to call in the next singer.

And they hadn't gotten anyone better. This wasn't a paid gig. Singing with this group was purely voluntary, but word had gotten around that Erik had connections, that working with him could get you noticed. His little chamber choir attracted some serious talent, but Christine blew everyone out of the water.

Her rounded tones, her crisp diction, her three and a half octave range, her effortless breathing...sure, there was room for improvement, but he knew it wouldn't be long until someone else snapped her up, and her career would be off like a shot.

And that was just his semi-professional concern. He'd eavesdropped on enough choir gossip to know she was romantically _un_ attached. But how much longer would that be? There were thousands of handsome young men prowling the streets of New York City looking for vulnerable young women they could charm with their _perfect_ teeth, _perfect_ hair and _perfect_ faces. Anyone of them could easily fall as hopelessly in love with her as Erik was. But with the distinct advantage of being able to show his face in public without frightening children.

He could just see him now. He would probably have a trendy, foreign name, like "Esteban," or "Fabrizio," or "Raoul." He would be blond, blue-eyed, muscled. He would come from a wealthy, stuck-up family, but he would be a perfect, gracious prince of a man. He certainly wouldn't be pale, skinny as a beanpole, and horribly disfigured, like Erik. He knew he had to do something to convince her to give him a chance, something to distract her from all of the Raouls out there.

Erik had started off by offering her some free lessons after everyone left choir practice each week. He had said he wanted to help her with the solos he assigned her, but he quickly opened it up to audition pieces, broadening her repertoire, working on her expression, etc. These lessons were the highlight of his week, and she didn't seem to mind being alone with him. That had been Phase 1.

Phase 2 was working up the courage to ask her to get coffee with him across the street after a lesson. He had felt so giddy when she said, "Yes, I'd love to," that he had no idea what he'd even ordered when they got there. It had tasted awful, whatever it was, but he had beamed through their conversation about Baroque music, regardless.

Coffee after practice had then become a regular part of Tuesdays and Thursdays. They talked about music. They both adored Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt and Chopin. Art – she loved the French Impressionists, while he preferred the Pre-Raphaelites. Literature – they both favored the Brontë sisters. Movies – he even watched _Star Wars_ after she mentioned how excited she was to see the next one, _and some of them weren't bad_. They talked about her deceased parents and how she sometimes felt alone in the world. Seattle, New York City, his travels –

"Oh, I wish I could go to Paris someday," she sighed. "I've always dreamed of seeing the Palais Garnier."

He wanted to buy plane tickets right there in the coffee shop – he could afford it – but he figured he should start with dinner for the first date and then move on to spontaneous European getaways for the second. They could walk hand-in-hand down the Champs-Élysées. He could buy her flowers from a street vendor. They could visit the Louvre and talk about how overrated the _Mona Lisa_ is. He could take her to little hole-in-the-wall restaurants where real Parisians ate. They could spend the night together in a hotel room overlooking the Bois de Boulogne and fall asleep in each other's arms after making love in the city of lights. What would that be, Phase 46 or so?

Phase 3 had been inviting her to see Ann's daughter Meg dance in _Giselle_ a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, Nadir overheard and said he wanted to go. Erik knew Nadir had a crush on Ann and was always looking for an excuse to see her, so Erik chose not to wring his neck for butting in. He could feel pity for the poor dope now that he was also a man in love. While Erik did get to have dinner with the woman of his dreams, Nadir had made an extremely vocal third wheel, so Phase 3 was a draw.

Phase 4 was sitting right in front of him, wrapped in shiny gold paper with a red bow in the direct center of the top of the box.

Whoever said, "Measure twice, cut once," was a poseur. Erik had watched twelve different YouTube videos, trying to find the best way to wrap a gift. He had spotted the flaws in every technique and perfected the best one. He had calculated the exact amount of paper needed, as well as the ideal tape-to-paper ratio. He had used a long, sharp knife to cut the paper, rather than scissors to make sure he made perfectly straight, clean cuts.

He'd gone from being a guy who'd never wrapped a gift before to the world's foremost expert in the art. Nothing was too good for Christine, and nothing was so trivial he wouldn't do it if he thought it might make her smile. He just had to get through tonight's performance – their last performance of Handel's _Messiah_ – and then he would give her this gift.

xXx

"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the Earth."

Erik was in Heaven. Christine's smooth voice wrapped him up in a bliss even brighter than the golden paper around the box in the back seat of his car. He was conducting, so his back was to the masses behind him, but he sensed they shared his awe. Her eyes flickered over to him. She had to engage with her admiring audience, but her eyes always came back to him, glowing with the delight of the piece, but also seeking assurance and guidance, which he readily gave his shining star.

They were on the final part. It wouldn't be much longer now...

Finally, the full choir sang, "Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the lamb, for ever and ever. Amen."

Applause, applause, applause.

Erik bowed.

Applause, applause, applause.

Bows from the soloists.

Applause, applause, applause.

Bows from the Chorus.

Applause, applause, applause.

Encore of the Hallelujah Chorus.

Applause, applause, applause.

Everybody bows.

Erik was relieved when he and the soloists finally left the stage. The Chorus filed out of their rows, and the audience got up to leave.

Some of the Chorus members joined friends and family out in the auditorium, and a few chatted or stopped to compliment the soloists. A couple of the men shook hands with Erik. A few of the women threw knowing glances between Erik and Christine, which he absolutely did not notice.

Erik hung back, desperately hoping he could get a moment alone with her. Finally, the last soprano, Jessica, left, giggling as Christine sat down to look something up on her phone and Erik hovered awkwardly near her chair. He had the distinct feeling that Jessica knew something he didn't, but he was too focused on his beautiful angel to puzzle out what it could be.

"You were amazing tonight," Erik hurriedly complimented. "Not that you aren't _always_ amazing," he stumbled. "You were just...so perfect."

"Oh, I don't know," Christine reasoned demurely. 'I think my breathing was a little off on the 'Rejoice greatly.'"

"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted. "But you were still wonderful."

"I think I missed the last bus home," Christine sighed, quickly flashing her screen at him and then away. He completely missed whatever was on it. "I guess I'll have to take an Uber or the subway."

"I drove in, so I could give you a ride," Erik suggested, suddenly glad that he lived out of the city and needed to commute. Traffic was murder, but he preferred the solitude.

"Would you really," Christine asked with relief. "That's too sweet of you."

"Of course," Erik assured her. "I'd be afraid you wouldn't make it home safe if you took the subway this late…" He frantically searched for a reason she shouldn't summon a rideshare service.

"And this is a peak time for Uber, so it would be crazy expensive," Christine offered.

"Right," Erik agreed, nodding a little to emphatically. "Paying to ride with a stranger would be ridiculous when you can ride with a friend for free."

Erik escorted Christine to his car, and opened the passenger side door for her. They were both quiet on the way to her apartment. Erik tried to think of clever, interesting things to say that would impress her, but he was too nervous. His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure she could hear it over the classical music playing on the radio.

Occasionally, Christine pointed out Christmas light displays she liked. Erik agreed with everything she said, even when he thought they were terrible. She giggled a few times, and he really had no idea what that was all about. Did every woman know something he didn't?

 _Yes, of course, they do,_ he griped to himself. _They know exactly what they're thinking. You'll never know that, no matter how high your IQ is._

After what felt like hours of awkward silence interspersed by white lies and Christine's directions (as if he needed them!), Erik pulled up to her apartment, finding an inconvenient parking spot three blocks away. He got out, opened her door and walked with her to her building, silently trying to come up with some reason to prolong this moment. She took out her keys, and he suddenly remembered the gift in the backseat.

"I have something to give you," Erik told her. "Let me go back and get it." He hurried to the car while she stood in the foyer. He handed her the box in its shiny gold paper.

"Would you like to come up for a few minutes," Christine asked with a shy smile.

Erik was stunned. This was exactly what he wanted to do, but he couldn't believe she had actually asked him to come up. "Uh, yeah," he said. _Oh, God, I just said 'Uh, yeah.' For the first time ever, a woman invited me up to her apartment, and my best response was "Uh, yeah," like some stupid boy. Very smooth, Erik._

Her apartment was a small studio, neat and tastefully, if somewhat cheaply, decorated. His eyes swept over the furniture. He was painfully aware of the full-sized bed in the corner. There were little white lights strung up on the walls around the bed, which might have seemed like a comforting glow from Christine's perspective. To Erik, there might as well have been a flashing sign pointing to the bed that read, "THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS!"

Erik felt Christine's hands on his arm, and he realized she was trying to take his coat. He shrugged it off, and she hung it up on a peg next to her coat and scarf.

In the corner by the sofa, there was a little, fake pre-lit Christmas tree with a few presents under it. The analytical part of his brain that could never quite shut off noted that she had done an adequate job wrapping the presents, but her technique could use some work. Christine sat on the sofa beside the little tree and then patted the cushion next to her. Erik lowered himself onto it gingerly as Christine admired his handiwork.

"You're quite the gift wrapper," she commented before carefully removing the paper from the long box. She set it aside and slowly lifted the lid. Erik watched her expression as she found the contents, a few sheets of hand-notated music. She raised the paper out of the box and began studying the title and dedication: " _'Beauty in C' by Erik Rousseau. For Christine Daaé."_

"Oh, Erik," she breathed, looking up at him, teary-eyed, "it's beautiful. No one's ever –" She couldn't go on, too moved by the gesture. "Will you…will you hum it for me?"

He didn't need to look at the sheets. He had started writing this after he returned home the day of her audition, and he'd spent months perfecting it, attempting to express everything he thought and felt about her. Her warmth, her kindness, her intellect, her beauty, her sense of humor. He knew this by heart; that's where it had come from, after all.

 _Oh, great, now you're a total sap, Erik._

The song didn't have lyrics. Okay, it did, but he wasn't quite ready to share those yet, so he sang it on nonsense syllables. He hummed it all the way through as she stared at him in admiration and gratitude. It was all worth it, even if they were never more than friends, or teacher and student.

"I got you something, too," she choked after he fell silent. "It's not as…as thoughtful, or as precious, or…or as _brilliant_ as your music. But I hope you'll like it."

She carefully placed the song he'd written for her back in the box on the coffee table and turned to the tree, wiping a few stray tears away. She grabbed a box wrapped in red with white music notes. He recognized it as "O, Holy Night." There was a little green tag with his name on it, _"To: Erik, From: Christine."_ This wonderful little tag proved that she really had gone out of her way to pick out something for him. It wasn't a generic gift she'd bought and wrapped in case someone surprised her, like he had. He took it in trembling hands.

He impatiently ripped into the paper, which made her giggle. What was with all the giggling tonight? He pulled the lid off the box and found what looked like fake green plants with white berries wrapped up in a ball and hung from a red ribbon. He had no idea why she was giving him this, but he looked into her blue, teary eyes and truthfully said, "Thank you, Christine, I love it."

She giggled again, intensifying his confusion. "You don't recognize it, do you?"

 _She definitely knows something I don't._ "Not at all," he admitted sheepishly.

"Well, you hang it up by this," she hinted, scooting a little closer to him and showing him the red ribbon.

He still didn't get it.

She gently took it from the box and held it up directly above her head.

"What about now," she asked breathlessly, leaning in a little closer.

Erik glanced from her blue eyes to the ball of greenery, and then back to her eyes. Back to the ball, and then down to her lips. Back to the ball.

"Mistletoe," he whispered almost reverently, as if this green ball was the answer to his prayers.

"Erik, do you know what to do when someone waits for you under the mistletoe," she questioned, now just inches from his face.

"I do," he said, nodding. Erik met her pleading eyes, and he couldn't understand how she could want anything from him other than music lessons. He felt like she was hypnotizing him. He couldn't look away or move, even if he'd wanted to.

"The mistletoe isn't really the gift," Christine explained with a nervous giggle, scooting a little closer. "May I give you your real Christmas present?"

 _Oh, so that's what the giggling was about…_

"Yes, please," Erik whispered, barely daring to hope that she intended to go through with it. I mean, this was skipping ahead by at least three phases.

He leaned in, still a little uncertain of her reaction. But she leaned in, too, tipping her head back to accommodate his mask, and their lips met with a gentle pressure.

Her lips were soft and smooth, and Erik had never felt anything so wonderful. It was utter agony when he felt her pull away, but she was still smiling. She didn't seem at all disgusted by his thin, rough lips.

"That's the greatest gift anyone has ever given me," Erik murmured in a low, husky voice. "You were wrong, though. That was every bit as thoughtful, precious and _brilliant_ as my gift to you."

"Well, it's a gift that keeps on giving," she said, leaning in and kissing him again. Erik thought his heart would explode. If this was how he died, he would go happier than he'd ever imagined.

He felt her tongue lightly brush his lips. He was so surprised, he gasped, opening his mouth just enough for her tongue to slip into his mouth and explore.

Erik had no idea what to do. He'd read about this, but now that it was happening, his youthful research flew straight out of his mind. He let Christine – wonderful, beautiful, angelic Christine – take the lead. The ball of mistletoe lay discarded somewhere. Christine no longer needed it to make her point.

As they slowly wrapped their arms around each other, holding each other close, Erik knew that no gift wrapping technique on Earth could beat this.

xXx

 **A/N: This is the first fic I've published in a long, long time, but it's not the first fic I've written since coming back to the fanfiction community. I've been working for a few months now on a handful of long stories, but working like that makes it hard to finish anything. Still, I have become obsessed with a certain story I'm writing, so I think it might actually happen. If you like this story, follow me and watch out for it.**

 **This was written for Not A Ghost3's Christmas one-shot contest. I got the idea a few weeks ago when the local chamber choir did Handel's Messiah for Christmas, and I happened to think it was a perfect opportunity for Erik and Christine to get to know each other in time for the holidays.**

 **Thanks for giving it a read!**

 **\- GF**


	2. Resolutions

Resolutions

Erik made a quick sweep of the house, checking every room.

Dinner was warm in the oven. Champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice at the bar in the den. Two places were set at his dining room table. Jazz standards were playing softly on his stereo system. The lights were dimmed just so in every room. The kitchen and bathroom both gleamed. Everything was spotlessly clean. His bed was made with fresh sheets and blankets, and two immaculate pillows sat on both sides of the bed.

 _Just in case,_ he thought, equal parts excited and nauseated by the prospect of being with Christine in this room. The words, "THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS," swam in front of his eyes as he thought of the lights strung up around the bed in Christine's little studio apartment. Oh, how beds seemed to taunt him!

Erik himself was impeccably dressed in black slacks, a charcoal dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back to the elbows, black loafers, and a gleaming white mask. The rolled-up sleeves made the outfit casual.

"This is casual, right," he asked the bathroom mirror aloud, suddenly not at all sure if he even knew how to be casual at all. Or what to do with his hands. _What the hell am I supposed to do with my hands all night?_

Erik, as usual, wanted everything to be perfect. He had been seeing…going with…going out with…dating – _whatever people were calling it these days_. Well, whatever it was, he had been doing that with Christine since just before Christmas, and she was coming to his home for the first time for New Year's Eve. He had offered to take her to some awful, crowded, noisy party, but she had assured him she would prefer to spend a quiet evening with him. Perhaps she would have wanted to go to a party if he hadn't actually used the words, "awful," "crowded," and "noisy," but the important thing was that she would be alone with him in his house, rather than gallivanting around the city with some young, handsome, empty-headed Raoul – the name he had given to his imagined rival.

Erik quickly turned off the oven and put on his coat to meet Christine at the train station and ran out to his car. He sighed in contentment as he thought about the evening ahead of him – good food, expensive champagne, and the best company. It could possibly even stretch into the whole night if she decided she didn't want to take the train back to the city, or get a cab. After the champagne, he certainly didn't plan on driving her back to her apartment. Of course, if she decided to stay, but wasn't ready to spend the night in the same bed as him, he would do the gentlemanly thing and take the couch. Either way, he would complete Phase 24 of his master plan, maybe even 25, if she stayed the night.

He pulled into the parking area at the station and quickly smoothed back his hair before getting out of the car and walking to the platform. He was right on time, as usual. The train had just pulled up, and the passengers were disembarking. For a panicked moment, Erik was terrified that she wouldn't get off the train – that she had changed her mind, decided she wanted nothing more to do with him, and that he would never see her again. He let out the breath he'd been holding when, thankfully, Christine stepped into view, and the terror passed.

And what a _view_! Her long curls were swept away from the right side of her face and fell over her left shoulder. Erik waved at her, and she smiled radiantly when she spotted him, quickly striding towards him in her long wool coat. When she reached him, she threw her arms around him and kissed him squarely on the lips, as she had done every time they'd seen each other the past week and a half. As Erik returned her kiss and embrace, he silently hoped he never got used to this small miracle. How could anybody take this for granted?

Christine was carrying a rather large bag, not at all appropriate for a casual evening in a home she intended to leave in a few hours. _Hello, Phase 24 or 25, and goodbye!_

Once Erik finally got her into his house, he helped her shrug off her coat, revealing a form-fitting knee-length, sleeveless wine-colored velvet dress with just a tempting hint of cleavage along the sweetheart neckline.

 _Eyes up, Erik, eyes up,_ he thought, as Christine looked around the living room.

He quickly gave her the full tour, and she seemed duly impressed by his tasteful décor. When they reached the bedroom, Christine smiled shyly at him, and his face burned so hot, he was afraid he'd melt his mask. Tour ended, he led her to the dining room and pulled out her chair for her. He served their perfectly prepared meal, and they settled in for a pleasant evening.

xXx

" _Should_ _old_ _acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind?  
Should __old_ _acquaintance be forgot,  
for the sake of __auld_ _lang syne?_

 _For auld lang syne, my_ _dear_ _,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
for the sake of auld lang syne."_

"Oh, Erik, you play the violin so beautifully," Christine marveled, clapping her hands gleefully.

"And you are in remarkably good voice today," Erik complimented her, stealing a kiss before putting his violin away.

Christine poured them each another glass of champagne at the bar and then sat down on the sofa. Erik joined her, and she draped her legs across his lap. With a false air of nonchalance, Erik laid one hand on her thigh, admiring the muscle under the velvet.

"So, what's your resolution for 2018," Christine asked, slipping an arm around his shoulders. Her fingers started rubbing little circles on his shoulder blade, and his skin tingled pleasantly at the contact.

Erik shrugged, careful not to disturb her arm. "I haven't thought about it," Erik replied truthfully. "I've never made a resolution before."

"Then you should choose something easy as practice," she advised, taking another sip of champagne. "Like being nicer to Nadir, or eating more green vegetables."

"Being nicer to Nadir is a bit ambitious for a first try," Erik argued dryly. "Besides, someone has to remind him what a boring old fart he is." Erik looked up at the ceiling in a pensive attitude. "Perhaps, I should resolve to date more," he finally said with an amused chuckle.

"To date more women," Christine laughed, "or go on more dates?"

"Oh, more dates," Erik assured her with a rakish grin. "I don't think I can juggle any more women than I already am. Five is my limit."

Christine playfully slapped his arm, pretending to be offended. "Resolutions are about progress," she informed him. "You decide how you can make your life better, and then you try to do it. A lot of people decide to quit smoking, or exercise more. Or they decide to make new friends, or take up a new hobby. For 2017, _I_ resolved to move to New York City and live as a starving bohemian artist for a while," Christine said, turning serious. "I did _that,_ so in 2018, I resolve to get a job as a working opera singer. The Met is my first choice, but maybe I'll end up at the Opera Company of Brooklyn, or the American Lyric Theatre. There are a lot of places I can sing in New York, and I'm going to find one that will take me by the end of the year."

"Yes, you will," Erik agreed, beaming at her. Perhaps it was the champagne, or the fact that she hadn't taken her hands, or legs, off him since they sat down, but he felt like he was glowing. "But it's almost midnight, and you told me we have to watch the ball drop in Time Square."

"You're just excited because I told you that's when people kiss," she teased, scooting in a little closer so he could wrap his arm around her and she could lay her head on his shoulder.

"Believe me, my dear," Erik told her, planting a kiss on her hair while subtly moving his hand a little farther up her thigh, "I will exploit any excuse to kiss you."

"Who says you need an excuse," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Erik switched on the television, which was already set to the appropriate channel, and he considered everything Christine had said about New Year's resolutions.

This past year had been good to Erik, and the last couple of weeks had been the happiest time in his life. Now that he'd met Christine and finally gotten the nerve to ask her out, Erik could think of only one thing that could possibly change his life for the better. He needed security. He needed as much assurance as he could get that Christine would always be a part of his life. As the countdown started, Erik knew that his resolution for 2018 was much more ambitious than going on dates with Christine – even more ambitious than being nicer to Nadir.

As he leaned in for his very first New Year's kiss, Erik gazed into the eyes of his beloved and resolved within himself. _I love you, Christine Daaé, and I'm going to ask you to marry me by the end of the year._

xXx

On New Year's Day, Erik woke up feeling sore all over. He'd had quite a night with Christine, who was now sleeping soundly next to him. Unfortunately, they'd both fallen asleep on the couch after their fourth glass of champagne each. Well, there was always Valentine's Day…

 **A/N: I haven't actually laid out what each Phase is. I just pick numbers that sound reasonable. Well, reasonable is probably not the right word for Erik's obsessively detailed plan, but you get the idea. However, I** _ **have**_ **laid out some ideas for how we can follow Erik and Christine through some other major holidays in 2018. Here's hoping I don't flake! Ooooh, maybe writing/publishing more will be my New Year's Resolution!**


	3. Magic

_**A/N: This is my entry for Not A Ghost3's Valentine's Day one-shot contest. It exists in the same universe as my Christmas one-shot Gift Wrappings, and its New Year's Eve follow-up.**_

Magic

Erik fingered the small, square jewelry box in his pocket as Christine admired the dozen red roses on the table in his dining room. If she cared to explore further, she would find another dozen red roses in a crystal vase in every room of his house, including the laundry room in the basement. Thank God, she'd nailed her audition at the Bronx Opera Company and had quit her job as a server. Otherwise, she'd be at the restaurant right now, waiting on other happy couples, instead of here with him, wearing that tight, red cocktail dress.

"So, what you're saying is," Erik clarified, taking her by the hand and helping her into her seat at the table, "you would have said yes, if I'd asked you out months ago?"

Their places were already set with salads, lasagna, breadsticks and two glasses of wine.

"I agreed to coffee, didn't I," Christine pointed out, placing her napkin on her lap and digging into her salad.

"Coffee with your voice teacher, sure," Erik conceded with a nod, spearing a cherry tomato, "but a date with a... well, a man like me?" He popped the tomato into his mouth and looked away with embarrassment.

"Erik, I've been crazy about you since my first choir rehearsal." She said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rather than the most incredible.

"What could I have possibly done at a rehearsal to make you look at me twice," Erik snorted before taking a bite of his lasagna.

"Well, you swept into the rehearsal room, Nadir right behind you," she explained, pausing to taste Erik's delicious lasagna. "You were both arguing loudly in Persian – you know, it was fascinating to me that you even _spoke_ Persian – and everybody immediately stopped talking. You threw yourself onto the piano bench and started banging out Rachmaninoff. Nadir rolled his eyes so hard, I thought he'd sprain them, and then he stalked out of the room. You laughed, switched to Chopin, and then started the rehearsal as if nothing had happened."

"Oh, so you were immediately attracted to my notoriously good humor," Erik joked wryly, grabbing a breadstick from the basket between them.

"I guess I just thought you were interesting and exciting," Christine shrugged, turning shy. She pushed some of her food around her plate with her fork. She looked up at him through her eyelashes in the most becoming way. "I had a little crush," she confessed, "which turned into a very big crush after you started working with me after rehearsals. Then a full-blown infatuation after we started getting coffee together. That's when I started to suspect that maybe my crush wasn't completely unrequited."

"What gave me away," Erik asked. "The fact that I hung on your every word, or the way I grinned like an idiot the whole time?"

"No, it's because you ordered something different every time we went to the coffee shop, and you seemed to hate every drink you tried." Her eyes were glowing softly as she remembered all the times he'd tried to suppress a frown at the taste of his macchiato or americano. "I figured it was just an excuse to spend time with me."

Erik chuckled at being found out. He'd thought the coffee plan had been so clever – Phase 2 of his elaborate plan to make her his – he would worm his way into her life, and she'd never guess he had ulterior motives. What a fool!

Yet, here was on phase 32, still trying to figure out the best strategy, since planning was so much more comforting than hoping she'd just fall for him on her own.

Christine interrupted his silent self-deprecation. "I suppose it helped that you're so... _dashing_."

"Dashing? Me," he gestured to his long, thin frame. "You have to be joking."

"Erik, you're extremely dashing," Christine argued, scooting her chair a little around the table, closer to him. "Well-dressed, impeccable manners – with everyone except Nadir." She reached up and started to slowly run her fingers through his hair, which felt divine. He had no idea it could be so…stimulating. "Mysterious, intelligent, talented. Erik, maybe no one's ever told you, this, but you're quite a catch. And I'm glad I've caught you," she purred.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Erik groaned as she found a particularly sensitive spot on his scalp.

"I suppose you will," Christine grinned wickedly, smoothing his hair back before returning to her dinner. "I don't intend to let any other women have the chance."

They bantered throughout the rest of their meal, Christine insisting on saying the most ridiculous things, like, "Your eyes are so beautiful, I love the way they catch the light," and "It's sexy when you say Italian words in rehearsals."

"I don't suppose you'd like a demonstration of some of my other talents," Erik suggested after dessert.

"Why, Mr. Rousseau, I confess myself intrigued! What hidden talents have you kept from me?"

Erik didn't answer, producing a deck of cards from nowhere. He fanned out the cards and nodded to them, indicating that she should choose one. She pulled one out close to the bottom of the fan and checked it. The King of Hearts. How apropos!

Erik slowly nodded at the deck again. He hadn't taken his eyes off her the whole time. She stared him down as she slipped the card into the deck. He quickly closed the fan of cards and shuffled, cutting a few times for good measure. She expected him to finally pull out the King of Hearts, but instead, he coolly threw the deck onto the table and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a little jewelry box.

Christine's breath hitched when she saw it, completely forgetting the card trick. She shot Erik an uncertain look, but she felt herself blushing and had to look away. She wasn't entirely sure she was ready for whatever might be in that little box.

Erik unhurriedly lifted the box's lid, revealing something folded up inside. She reached out with shaking fingers and took it out of the box. Underneath, she saw a pair of round-cut ruby stud earrings with tiny diamond haloes.

Christine squealed in both delight and relief. "Oh, Erik, they're beautiful! Thank you!"

Erik grinned, knowing exactly what had been going through her head as she reached for the jewelry box. However, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was ready to throw himself off that cliff and fall right into forever, but he knew she wasn't…and he wasn't going to push her.

He held out his hand, and she recalled that she still held the object in the box. She dropped it into his waiting hand, and he placidly unfolded it. He held it up to her and asked, "Is this your card?"

It was the King of Hearts!

"Yes," she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. "How did you do that?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," he declared smugly. He hoped she didn't examine the deck of cards on the table and find the other fifty-two Kings of Hearts.

"Now, it's your turn to open your present," Christine exclaimed, pulling away so she could retrieve his gift from the counter. Thankfully, the paper was decorated with alternating dark and light red stripes, rather than ridiculous valentine hearts.

Erik carefully removed the paper as Christine folded her arms and shook her head. Once the paper was off, Erik balled it up with a rakish grin and threw it over his shoulder. Christine gasped in shock when the ball went straight into the trash can.

Inside was a ream of personalized sheet music with his name in blood-red letters. It came with a handsome fountain pen and matching red ink. Erik ran his fingers lightly over the top page. His throat worked to swallow as he looked up at her. "This is perfect, Christine, thank you." He hugged her tightly for a moment and then let go. "I have one more gift for you."

"More than the earrings," Christine wondered. "You're too good to me."

"We'll see about that," he pronounced mysteriously. He took her hand and led her over to his piano. He took a seat on the bench, and she stood next to him, her eyes crinkling with a smile and a question.

"I gave you a song for Christmas," Erik reminded her, staring down at his hands on the keys.

" _Beauty in C_ ," Christine sighed dreamily.

Erik nodded, twisting around to see her face. "But I didn't tell you that I also wrote lyrics."

Erik started playing the familiar tune, starting off in a minor key, while his gorgeous voice revealed the words he hadn't been able to give her then.

 _The world was cold,_

 _And life was ugly._

 _So I was told,_

 _Every day_

 _That I remember._

 _The world was cold.._

 _I tried so hard,_

 _To stoke the fire,_

 _But then the wind_

 _Would come and blow_

 _To cool the embers_

 _And life was ugly..._

 _All flats and sharps._

 _Clouded and dark…_

 _Then there was you..._

The music easily shifted into the key of C, changing from a slightly ominous tone to a hopeful one.

 _And you were warm,_

 _And you were lovely,_

 _A glowing candle_

 _In the darkness._

 _There was beauty._

 _The beauty in C..._

 _A rose in bloom,_

 _A work of art,_

 _An open room,_

 _A bird in flight,_

 _A beating heart._

 _The beauty in C…_

 _Stars at midnight,_

 _And waving seas._

 _What on earth could_

 _Somehow hope_

 _To compare to these?_

 _Only you, here with me._

 _Only you can carry the key._

 _The time right_

 _To right the wrongs_

 _I've seen._

 _That is beauty,_

 _Truly beauty,_

 _I've seen the beauty,_

 _The beauty in C._

As Erik played the last chord, he dared to look up at Christine, hoping that the words had pleased her, that she thought they did her justice. She was staring at him with a strange expression, her lips parted a little, her eyes wide and soft.

"I love you, Erik," she declared firmly.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Couldn't comprehend.

His mind was moving so slowly, it felt like his brain had been dumped into a vat of molasses. He understood the words _individually_ , and he understood the first three tolerably well when strung together – yes, since he'd met Christine _"I love you,"_ was easy to grasp, far easier than he'd ever thought possible. Far easier than last Valentine's Day, which he'd spent alone in this very house getting drunk and watching bad horror movies on Netflix.

But _"I love you, Erik,"_ simply made no sense. It took several seconds before his mind accepted that this sentence was very much like, _"I love you, Christine,"_ which he had said many times, but only when she was out of earshot.

Christine lowered herself beside him on the bench. "I thought it would be easier if I said it first," she murmured, leaning in to leave a trail of kisses along his exposed neck.

Finally, Erik's mind caught up to this strange, new world where Christine said things like, _"I love you, Erik,"_ and hopefully breathed, "I love you, too, Christine."

He tentatively snaked his arms around her, and she whispered into his ear, "I want to make love with you, Erik."

He froze, suddenly as stiff as a statue – a statue of Priapus, in fact.

Surely, Erik had misheard her. If _"I love you, Erik,"_ was the most beautiful sentence ever uttered in the English language, surely, _"I want to make love with you, Erik,"_ had to be the fourth most beautiful sentence he had ever dared to imagine.

He pulled away, gave her a quizzical look and said, "Uh, what?"

 _That certainly doesn't rank,_ he thought, furious with himself. He should be sweeping her off her feet and straight into the bedroom, not fumbling for words.

Christine smiled a surprisingly seductive smile – the kind he'd seen in movies, a kind of smile never directed at him before – and slowly drew out every syllable so there could be no mistake. "I want. To make love. With you. Erik."

"Are you sure you want to do that," he cried with alarm. He'd fantasized about this moment – he'd been hoping for it in an irrational, anxious sort of way. But now that it was a reality, he was filled with both desire and dread. His rubbed his sweating palms on his pantlegs.

"Yes, that's what I want," Christine assured him.

"No, no, no, you don't," Erik argued, shaking his head helplessly, silently damning himself for trying to dissuade her, rather than simply grasping the opportunity. "You may think you want that, but you have, just, no idea what...what all of this is like. I'm, I'm grotesque," he continued, slumping his shoulders. "My skin – it's not smooth and perfect like yours," he despaired, gently stroking her arm with a finger. "I have scars, and my skin is discolored, and it's so dry! And I'm so – so bony, I'm like a skeleton. And my face – God, my face is…I can't say."

"Erik," Christine said his name firmly, smoothing his hair back with both hands. He stopped spiraling as he reveled in her touch. "Erik, I already know what your body and your skin are like. It's not as if I've never touched you before. I don't know what your face is like, that's true, but we don't have to worry about that tonight. I love you, and I want you to be comfortable. We'll go as slow, and as _clothed_ as you need us to. But I want you, and I want you to know how much."

She gave him a long, lingering kiss. It was very different from their past kisses. It wasn't simply passionate, which had become Erik's new, blissful normal, but also somehow deliberate, as if she wanted him to understand that she was thinking quite clearly. That she was making promises she intended to keep.

When they finally parted, Erik blurted out, "I'm a virgin!"

"Is being a virgin important to you," Christine asked. "We don't have to do anything, if you're waiting for...something."

Erik let out a nervous laugh. "No, that's not important to me. I mean, being a virgin isn't important – the other thing…what I mean is –" He paused, "I don't have any... experience."

Christine breathed in deeply, which made her chest heave in a distracting fashion. "Do you want some?"

"Oh, yes," Erik said, swallowing hard, eyes flickering over her, not sure where he could safely look. "But I won't be any good at it."

"Maybe not at first," she conceded, toying with the collar of his shirt. He had left the topmost button unfastened. She slid her fingers down to the second button, making it pop open and exposing the neckline of his black undershirt. "But you probably weren't that good at playing the piano or the violin at first, either."

"Not the first time or two," he admitted, rubbing her back in gentle circles with one hand, fighting the urge to button up again.

"And look at you now," she said, loosening the third button. "You're a master. Think of it like learning to play an instrument." Her fingers glided down to the fourth button, causing his skin to tingle. "You may have to practice a bit and listen to the instrument telling you what it likes and what it doesn't, but eventually..." She trailed off suggestively, and the button unfastened.

"I _am_ a fast learner," Erik said, warming up to the idea. If the lady was willing, who was he to argue?

"Do you want to start practicing tonight," she asked.

All he could do was nod. There weren't any words to describe how much he wanted to start this lesson.

Christine stood up and took his hand. Erik offered no resistance as she pulled him up and led him to his own bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind them as he fumbled with his fifth button. The magic was only three buttons, two zippers, two pairs of underwear, one belt, one undershirt and one bra away.

 _ **A/N: I had you going with that jewelry box, didn't I?**_

 _ **The song lyrics were reeeeeally hard to write. I had to start over half a dozen times at least.**_

 _ **Enthusiastic affirmative consent is sexy, y'all!**_

 _ **GF**_


	4. Poison

_**A/N: I'm getting this out waaaaay too late for USA's Mother's Day, but I was swamped with work and personal engagements (i.e. seeing superhero movies and playing Dungeons and Dragons) for most of April and May. But here it is, my Mother's Day chapter.**_

 _ **UPDATE – slugfighter suggested that my explanation for Erik's deformity would be more realistic if I changed the series of events a little. So I have revised this chapter and would like to thank her for sharing with me.**_

Poison

"Erik, what happened to your parents?"

His arm unintentionally shot off at an angle and knocked over his nearly empty water glass, but it didn't even register. He just stared at the counter in mute horror as he dimly heard the rustle of paper towels and then a splat as they hit the contents of his trash can. He jumped when he felt a hand on his arm, and he spun around to face her.

Christine. It was Christine. Lovely Christine. _What had she asked him?_

"Erik, are you alright?" Her tone was concerned. Concerned because he had…he had been lost for a moment. That was it. Because she'd asked him something. Something that upset him. What _was_ it?

"Yes, darling," he rasped, his usually smooth voice sounding horribly foreign to his own ears.

"Erik, you know that both of my parents passed away," Christine said slowly, eyes flickering over the few features she could see. "My mom had cancer when I was in middle school. My dad was in a car accident when I was in high school. But you never mention your parents. And we're spending Mother's Day with your friend, Anne Giry, so I just wondered…" She trailed off, head cocked to one side, as if she were studying him.

Erik's shoulders slumped, and he let out a big sigh. Yes, they had discussed her parents several times. Mother a professional singer, father a noted violinist. Precocious little Christine entertaining artsy friends at dinner parties, watching her parents perform from the wings. Until Angela Daaé's life had been tragically cut short, followed a few years later by her beloved husband, Christine's Papa.

But Erik had kept quiet, listening to her, feeling pained at her pain, but never interjecting with any information about his own background.

"It's a long story," he muttered when he realized he'd been silent for far too long.

"Do you want to talk about it," Christine prompted, moving in to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

"Not really," he snorted darkly. But he caught sight of the hurt in her eyes, and he knew he had to provide some sort of explanation. He leaned back against the counter for support and looked down at their joined hands.

"My father was an architect," he started. "A good one, too. Upper middle-class upbringing – parents both high-powered defense attorneys. Ivy-league educated. Job at a prestigious architectural firm just out of college. Graduate degree, probably well on his way to make partner in a few years." He paused and swallowed hard, raising his head enough to meet her gaze. "It was my grandfather's firm – my mother's father, that is. She had been a beauty queen, cheerleader, straight-A student, sorority sister. She was studying marketing when they met at a company Christmas party. I suppose it was only natural that the firm's golden boy should marry the boss' daughter."

Erik stopped again, remembering a night when his mother had been particularly drunk – her favorite, drink: screwdrivers, _minus the orange juice_ – and had decided on a whim to tell him about her perfect life, which he was now reciting almost word-for-word. Though, admittedly, he was cleaning up the language and speaking clearly.

"It was a modern-day fairy tale," he echoed his mother, leaving out the "f" word. "Until she got pregnant, that is."

"Were there complications," Christine whispered sympathetically.

"Yes, many," Erik answered. "But not like you're thinking of. My parents hadn't planned a pregnancy. They didn't feel they were ready for it. They were both building very promising careers, after all. My father was working long hours. He was getting up at four o'clock in the morning and not going to bed until late. Not getting much sleep. He was visiting a construction site, but he was tired. A beam fell from a malfunctioning crane. His reaction times weren't good."

Christine winced, and the hand not holding his rushed up to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in surprise.

"He was crushed," Erik said simply. "And so was my mother. Not quite as literally, but she _was_ crushed. She and my father had adored each other. They were young, successful, attractive. She had felt as if nothing stood in their way, as if they were immortal and unstoppable. It hadn't occurred to her she might have to live without him. She found herself learning how to be a young widow, and she had only just learned that she was eight weeks along. They hadn't even told anyone except their parents yet."

Erik had been neither prepared, nor interested, in telling Christine all of this. He didn't want to burden her with his awful childhood. But now that he had started, he found he couldn't just give her the skeleton of the story, as he'd intended – need-to-know only. No, he was fleshing it out, exposing the connective tissue. Come to think of it, he'd never given his mother this much understanding before.

He said more to himself than to her, "I hated her for it for the longest time, but I suppose now I can see why she would do something so desperate." _Now that I love someone as much as she must have loved my father._

Christine gasped through her covered mouth, "What did she do?"

Erik blinked until the hint of tears blurring his vision had cleared. He refocused his gaze on her and said firmly, "She tried to poison herself by drinking cleaning supplies."

"Oh my God," Christine shouted, throwing herself into Erik's arms, embracing him tightly. He felt her bury her face in his bony chest, and he calmly rubbed her back.

"How foolish of me," Erik exclaimed with a nervous laugh. "You should sit down. It's hardly a pleasant story, and you shouldn't suffer more than necessary." He gently nudged her towards the kitchen table and into one of the chairs. He took a seat next to her, but he immediately regretted it, afraid that after she heard the rest of his story, she would recoil from him. If he'd sat a little farther away, he wouldn't have to see that.

Christine asked with a dazed expression, "What happened, how did you survive?"

Erik felt more tears well up in his sunken eyes. He idly thought that must be a terrible sight, but he was touched by Christine's concern for baby Erik, even knowing him to be alive and well, and sitting in the kitchen with her.

"My grandparents found her in time," Erik explained, chafing one of her cold hands with his thumb. How ironic that _he_ should be trying to warm _her_!

"They took her to the hospital," he continued. "They stabilized her, saved both of our lives, kept her on suicide watch for the rest of the pregnancy. Talk of an abortion was immediately squashed by my devoutly Catholic grandparents. But it was too late for the damage that had already been done."

"Your face," she ventured, seeming to half-dread the answer.

He just nodded, carefully trying to gauge her reaction. "And more. Much of my… _unique_ physicality can likely be traced to 'intrauterine insult' – pre-natal poisoning. When I was born, I was a ghastly thing to behold. My mother often told me that one of the NICU nurses fainted as soon as she saw me."

"Why would she tell you something like that," she asked in a hushed, disbelieving tone.

"She hated me," Erik said matter-of-factly. For Madeline Rousseau's hatred was quite simply a matter of fact.

"She hated," he went on as Christine shook her head slowly at the thought, "that two such beautiful people had such an ugly child. She hated the traces of my father she saw in me obscured by…everything else. She hated the stares, cries, and pitying looks when anyone saw me. Her hatred was almost as poisonous as the Pine-Sol. She kept me locked up in the house, though I got good at escaping when I wanted to. And even in the house, I was required to wear a mask at all times, even when I slept, just in case."

"What about school, or friends, or camp?" Christine seemed to be grasping for any of the normal refuges children had.

Erik gave one dismissive wave of his pale hand. "Home schooling, expensive tutors, music lessons – all paid for by my grandparents, who I have never met because they didn't come to the house, and I wasn't allowed to go to theirs. Seeing me in the NICU was enough for them."

"How did you stop yourself from going crazy?"

"The lessons were enough, for a time," Erik conceded. "But I ran away when I was thirteen and never went back."

"You were just a kid," she exclaimed. "What did you do? Where did you go?"

"A few group homes. I attracted too much trouble to stay in one for long. Juvenile detention after I shoplifted a few things."

Sweet, angelic Christine didn't need to know what he'd shoplifted. Let her imagine it was something silly and frivolous that a runaway couldn't afford, like CD's or blue jeans that already had fashionable holes in them. He couldn't possibly tell her the truth – that it was rat poison. Or what he'd intended to do with it. Erik idly wondered if a proclivity for poisoning was genetic.

"When I left juvenile detention, I cleaned up my act. I got a GED easily enough. I auditioned for a music scholarship and went to college. Didn't graduate. Sold some compositions. A lawyer contacted me when I was 26 to tell me that my father's parents had both died. I inherited everything. A big house and a couple of cars, which I sold. Some stocks and things like that. From what a private detective told me, my mother married some doctor and moved to the other side of the country. I haven't seen or spoken to her in more than 20 years. Her parents are retired, and the old architecture firm is still going."

"She put you through all of that," Christine asked in a low, shaky voice, "because she didn't like the way you look?" Her eyes were glistening with moisture, and her jaw was rigid. He realized with a surge of pride that she was furious on his behalf – and it was glorious.

"Christine, we've never really talked about it before – for which I am grateful – but you must understand that…I have a face not even a mother could love."

"There's no such thing," she argued as two of her tears spilled out and ran down her cheeks, which were growing red with anger.

"She was disgusted by me," he said wearily, suddenly drained and bone-tired. "She told me in no uncertain terms that I ruined her life, and then she tried to ruin mine. You'd feel the same if–"

Erik just barely caught himself before he finished that awful, heinous sentence. It was a terrible thing to say, even if he was convinced it was true.

Unfortunately, he didn't have to finish it for Christine to understand. Her face went very white and very still, her mouth agape and her eyes blank.

"If I'd seen you without your mask," she choked. "You think I'm like her. That I'm too shallow to love you as you really are."

"It's not a question of being shallow," Erik reasoned, attempting to study the woodgrain of the kitchen table. "I wouldn't blame you at all."

Her expression hardened, and her posture became stiff. Her whole body trembled, as if she were a tall, thin metal spire vibrating in a strong wind. Her eyes flashed, and her tears dried up.

"Erik, I've known for you almost a _year_ ," she spat, throwing his hand away from hers. "We've been dating for _months_. I've loved you for _who knows how long_ before I was ready to admit it. I've been sleeping with you for _weeks_. How _dare_ you tell me that I couldn't love your face as much as the rest of you!"

With each reminder of the time they'd shared, Erik's thin shoulders slumped a little more until he was curled protectively into himself.

"My mother couldn't—"

"Your mother was a spoiled, spineless brat," Christine shouted, her fantastic breath support lending her more than enough air to fill the room with the sound of her rage. "I can handle it, even if she couldn't!"

"I just don't know—"

"Show me," she ordered, cutting through his argument.

He looked up at her in a panic, breaking out into a cold sweat at the thought. How could he show her this monstrosity? How could he let his face poison their love, as it had poisoned whatever love his mother might have had for him if he'd looked like a little cherub?

"Never," he insisted harshly. "I'd lose you forever."

Christine squared her shoulders, her anger converted to stubbornness. "Do you want to carry on, always wondering if I'd stay?"

Erik's eyes roved about the kitchen, wishing to look anywhere but at his determined lover. " _Anything_ is better than _nothing_ ," he sobbed.

Christine's hand, gentle but firm, turned his masked face to hers. "I can't carry on knowing that you don't trust me," she declared. "Knowing that you may _never_ trust me."

"Please don't do this, Christine," he begged, grasping the hand on his masked cheek.

"You have to show me, Erik. At least, promise me that you _will_ show me someday. Or it's over. We're over," she pushed down a sob of her own.

Erik stared at her as despair took hold. His muscles began to unclench as he realized that he'd been defeated. Nothing could stop her from walking out on him, except showing her his face. But once he did that, nothing would keep her there, either.

 _But what if she's right? What if this is the last step? Trust her, and put an end to the scheming, to the sleight of hand he'd been using to distract her from his worst qualities. Could it work?_

Erik broke their stalemate with a quick nod. "Fine," he sighed, pulling her hand away from his cheek. "Fine, I'll trust you."

Christine folded her hands in her lap, looking up at him through her eyelashes in that guileless way that made his pulse quicken every time. He gave her one last hesitant look before he shut his eyes and lifted his hands to the edge of his mask. He wouldn't watch her love die, if that's what happened. He'd much rather open his eyes to a hideously predictable reality where he was on his own again…than watch his beautiful dream fade away.

Erik felt very much like Pandora as he lifted the mask away from his face, the string catching at his hair, and braced himself for her screams.

They didn't come.

Instead, he felt the backs of fingers caress his papery cheeks. Soft fingertips lightly traced old scars that hadn't quite faded – relics of sores he'd developed while wearing masks of varying materials, day-in and day-out. A thumb grazed his rough bottom lip. The scent of her perfume grew more pronounced, and he could feel her breath on his face as his eyes flew open.

She was studying every inch with wonder, instead of disgust.

"The Pumpkin King," she whispered, breaking the silence.

"Pardon?"

She rolled her eyes as if she had said the most logical thing in the world. "Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King. You really do look like a Tim Burton character."

"Yes," he said with some irritation. "I know, I do. What gave it away, the bone-white skin, the height to weight ratio, or the fact that I'm missing a nose?"

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "I love Tim Burton characters, and I love you, too."

Erik hugged her fiercely, pulling her into his lap, and buried his ghastly face into her neck. She stroked his hair as he cried. His tears dampened her white shirt. After a few minutes, he pulled himself together enough to look at her. She pretended to smooth his shirt front to give him some dignity as he wiped the moisture from his bare face.

He cleared his throat and said as evenly as he could manage, "You should change your blouse, so we can leave for the restaurant. We barely have enough time to meet the Girys."

"Will Nadir be there," Christine asked with a sudden giggle.

"Of course, the new boyfriend must attend," Erik said airily, sounding more like his usual self now that the tension was over.

Christine went in for one more passionate kiss, which he returned with vigor, and then she pulled off her wet shirt.

 _ **A/N: This unmasking is why I wanted to get this chapter out, no matter how late it was. This had to happen eventually, and I thought Mother's Day was a good time to rip off the Band-Aid. If you like things on the steamy side, please continue this very special Mother's Day in my Mature-rated companion collection,**_ **Unwrapped** _ **.**_


	5. Approval

_**A/N: Keeping to a schedule is really hard, you guys. Luckily, Father's Day isn't nearly as big a deal in the ol' U. S. of A. as Mother's Day, so I only feel moderately guilty about taking so long to update. Besides, I've been distracted by**_ **Beautiful Dreamer** _ **.**_

 _ **I have also retconned some details on how Erik got his facial malformations, thanks to some details provided by slugfighter. It makes much more sense now, if you're interested in going back and seeing the changes.**_

Approval

Uncharacteristically, Erik's palms were sweating as he held Christine's warm hand tightly in his. _Characteristically,_ his golden eyes were roving about the area, focusing briefly on each lifeform in sight, assessing their threat level, before moving on to the next. His muscles were coiled, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.

"There's nothing to worry about," Christine murmured, letting go of his hand to rub his arm, shifting her purse so it wouldn't be in the way. "Seattle isn't so different from New York, you know."

"It may be a big city," Erik murmured back, "but no city is as comfortable with the… _unusual_ as New York."

Christine didn't argue, though he got the impression from the set of her jaw that she didn't agree, either. Still, Erik knew he was right. He'd been all over the world, and he'd felt out-of-place everywhere he went, except in his own secluded home.

He could feel curious, judgmental, or nervous eyes following them as they wove through the rows of headstones towards a tree-edged corner in the back. New Yorkers were much more accustomed to seeing strange things on the streets or in the subway. A man in a mask could pass for a performance artist, or your everyday harmless eccentric. As long as he didn't carry any visible weapons, or attempt to approach anyone he didn't know, Erik was largely accepted as part of New York City's tapestry of weird.

Seattle was a different story.

Environmentally-conscious, littered with coffee shops, and rainy for half the year, Seattle was a friendly place. Christine had raved about the sense of community there, how wonderful it had been to grow up there, how artistic it was.

But the general feel that everyone had their shit together set him on edge.

Thankfully, they arrived at their destination without incident and began relieving themselves of their burdens. Christine laid out the blanket she'd been carrying and set down her purse. She stretched out on the blanket, carefully arranging her sundress for modesty. Erik put down their take-out lunch and joined her, sitting with his knees bent in front of him, ready to run at a moment's notice. He handed her a paper plate, a plastic knife and fork, and a bottle of water. Then he pulled out her chicken lo mein and his Hunan chicken.

The whole trip had been a difficult one for Erik. He rarely flew if he could help it, but a three-day car trip would have been grueling, and he didn't relish the idea of stopping in little towns along the way. No, a nonstop, six-hour flight was infinitely preferable. Funny, how he'd been selected for a random security screening, despite the note from his physician explaining that his mask was a medical necessity. A quick, private glimpse at his face had convinced the TSA agents that, yes, he really needed the mask during travel.

Now, here he was, sitting out in the open with his beloved, eating Chinese food from her father's favorite restaurant, on a blanket laid out beside her parents' joint headstone.

Erik was used to the morbid, had even gone through a goth phase in his youth. Hell, he still preferred all- or mostly-black attire. But visiting graves had never factored in the way he expressed his fascination with mortality.

Christine's heart had been set on visiting her parents' graves at Father's Day. She had been eight years old when her mother died, and her memories of her mother had, sadly, faded over time. She just had some photographs, a few home videos, and her father's stories to assist her in remembering. For twelve years, it had just been her and her father. But then Charles Daaé had been cruelly taken from her.

And then she'd been on her own.

But she'd continued to live and study in Seattle, so she'd been able to make this picnic of Chinese take-out a tradition. She'd even held off moving to New York after graduating from her MFA to make sure she squeezed in Father's Day before flying off to pursue her dreams, which were now flourishing. She had vowed that she'd make it out here for the weekend every year, even if she had to take a greyhound, sleep in a hostel, and order the cheapest thing on the menu.

As it happened, Erik had deep pockets and was completely besotted, so he had dutifully purchased first-class tickets and booked a room in a five-star hotel. He had also wryly assured her she could order whatever she wanted from the hole-in-the-wall Chinese place, regardless of price.

"I wish he could have known you," Christine sighed before taking a sip of her water.

"Why, so he could run me off and get me out of your beautiful hair," Erik jested with a slight edge of bitterness. He tried to make up for it by tenderly tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"No, because he would have liked you very much," Christine said a bit too forcefully, tapping him on the knee with her plastic fork. "You would have blown him away with your talent, dazzled him with your excessively good treatment of me, and then he would have welcomed you like the son he never had."

"It's a lovely picture, Christine," Erik smiled faintly, trying to avoid an argument. He knew that his self-deprecating nature rubbed her the wrong way. Besides, he really, truly wanted to erase the constant barrage of self-hating thoughts that assailed his ego every day. He wanted to just…cheer up, or something, for her. While he was happier than he'd ever been…Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither would his self-esteem.

"You would have liked him, too," Christine said thoughtfully. "He was funny, in a sad way, if that makes any sense. I don't think he ever quite got over her. When I was very young, I sort of…well, I sort resented him for it. I had friends whose parents were divorced, sure, but none of them had lost a parent. Their parents weren't always grieving a little, and I thought it was unfair. I guess, sometimes I forgot _I_ hadn't just lost a _mother_. _He_ had lost a _wife_ , someone he'd loved and planned to spend the rest of his life with. Now that I have you…" She trailed off, staring distantly at the granite bearing her parents' names and dates – _beloved wife and mother, beloved husband and father_.

"Now that you have me," Erik prompted gently.

Christine's cheeks colored a little, and she looked down at her hands. Her voice was low and quiet when she finished her thought. "I guess I know how horrible it would be. If I lost you like that. One minute, I'd be expecting to see you at dinner and hear about your day, and then the next…" Her lovely voice was suddenly strangled, and he realized she was crying.

He quickly put down his plate, uncaring what happened to his half-eaten food, and pulled her close, rubbing circles in her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders.

"Sometimes I worry something will happen to you, and you'll be taken away from me," she whispered hoarsely. "Just like them."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Erik replied. "I've never been more determined to stay alive, and you know I rarely change my mind."

Christine giggled and sniffed. She pulled away and reached for a flimsy paper napkin to blow her nose. "I know you don't."

Erik was encouraged by her teary smile. "You just have to promise me that you're equally determined."

He wasn't joking. Losing her to a tragic accident or a long illness had been his greatest fear for months. It would have been the greatest injustice of his life if he'd found her only to lose her to some awful twist of fate.

"I'll go get the box of tissues from the car," she said, rising from the blanket. "I don't want to spoil our picnic by letting my nose run everywhere. I don't know why I thought I could get through it without them."

When she was out of earshot, Erik turned to the headstone, morbidity be damned. He called upon his most gothic tendencies as he addressed the polished granite.

"I do not know if either of you would have liked me," he whispered, "or if you would approve of your daughter falling in love with a horror show, like me. I do not ask for anyone's approval but hers. But I promise you, I love your daughter, and I am going to take care of her. I plan to devote the rest of my life to making her happy. You have my word."

When he was done making this vow, he looked up to see where she was. She was digging around in the back seat of the rental car, so he still had enough time to make a quick call before she got back. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd programmed weeks earlier.

"This is Eberhard Jewelry. How can I serve you?"

"This is Erik Rousseau. I would like to check on an order I placed a few weeks ago."

He was connected directly to the designer he was working with and given a rundown of his progress and timeline. When Erik was satisfied that the piece would be ready in time, he switched off his phone and patiently waited for Christine to join him on the blanket again, box of tissues firmly in hand.

"Christine," he ventured, taking her hand, "there's something I wanted to ask you, and I can't think of a better time than right now."

"What is it," she asked, wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

"I hate to think of you worrying about me, but I have to admit that I worry, too," he said. "I worry that our time together will be cut short somehow, and that one of us may regret not spending every moment together that we can. Hell, I worry that we'll both live to be ninety and feel like we didn't have enough time."

He paused, trying to work up the nerve to continue while she searched his expression and body language for any hint at what he was going to ask her.

"Christine, your lease is up at the first of the month," he rushed. "I don't want you to renew it. I want you to move in with me."

"You want me to live with you," Christine gasped, the tears starting to gather again.

"Yes, if you want to," Erik assured her quickly. "It would be a commute, I know, but you spend a lot of nights there now, anyway. There's no reason to throw money away for an apartment you only use half the time. Our schedules don't match up perfectly, but we could see each other more than we do now. I know we've only been seeing each other for six months, but I don't want to wait."

Erik was breathing hard by the time he wrapped up his desperate plea. He met her eyes, silently begging her to say yes.

"Erik," Christine breathed, "of course, I'll move in with you."

She threw her arms around him, and they held each other tightly. Tomorrow, they would board a direct flight back to New York City. Then, soon they'd move her things out of that run-down little studio and into his home. Their home.

Erik felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. That would be the jeweler texting him a photo of their project.

 _ **A/N: If you're so inclined, please head over to the rated M follow-up of this chapter in my Unwrapped series. I promise it's not weird. I just thought they should take advantage of that five-star hotel room Erik booked. *wink wink***_


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